


Alcedinid

by crimsonherbarium



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: BDSM, Ballads, Bards, Betrayal, Caning, Corporal Punishment, Drinking, F/F, Femslash, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Mentioned Assire var Anahid, Mentioned Emhyr var Emreis, Minor Edgeplay, Minor Priscilla (The Witcher), Novigrad (The Witcher), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poisoning, Post-The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Rare Characters, Rare Pairings, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Shameless Smut, Spies & Secret Agents, Taverns, The Kingfisher (The Witcher), Theft, Vaginal Fingering, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21569542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium
Summary: Whilst drinking away some of her gold at Novigrad's most prestigious inn after a particularly lucrative job, Carthia van Canten finds herself unexpectedly tied up in unfinished business.Alternately: Revenge is a dish best served cold, and paired with a glass of Nilfgaardian cherry cordial.
Relationships: Cantarella | Carthia van Canten/Eveline Gallo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18
Collections: Discord Community Archive





	Alcedinid

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a standalone, but it does follow up on a certain promise made in an old fic I wrote for this pairing, [Poison Jewel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17865038).

Carthia van Canten, known to almost none by her real name, was beginning to grow weary of espionage. 

The work she did for Imperator var Emreis was lucrative, certainly. But there was no soul in it these days. As when she had served Assire var Anahid, the emperor saw her as naught but a pretty face. She was useful to him as a seductress, charming her way into the beds of important men and swallowing their secrets—amongst other things—only to regurgitate them to Nilfgaardian intelligence later. The information she’d collected over the past year had been invaluable to the war effort, and she’d been paid handsomely for it, but the simple truth of the matter was that it bored her. It was always the same song and dance. The stakes were low. There was no excitement to be had whatsoever in listening to yet another fat, pasty diplomat waffle on about his various mistresses and financial indiscretions. 

And so she’d started to make use of her shrewd mind and various other talents elsewhere.

She’d started small, pulling a job here or there with whatever group of back alley trash caught her fancy between orders. And once she’d started stealing, she found she had a talent for it. Her silver tongue could charm her way in or out of just about any situation she found herself stuck in, and she’d discovered over the years that she had a knack for picking locks and escaping from tight spaces. Those skills combined with a healthy thirst for wealth and a brilliant mind for strategy made her a force to be reckoned with.

The jobs had gotten riskier and more ambitious as time went on. Carthia herself was by now rich enough that she needn’t have bothered stealing—the gold and jewels she’d accumulated were collecting interest in Cianfanelli’s bank in Toussaint, and she would have been hard-pressed to spend it all in one lifetime, even if she tried. Still, back home in Nilfgaard gold was power. Carthia’s family name carried no weight with the nobles of Emhyr’s court. It took immensely deep coffers to wash the stains of low birth from one’s skin. Carthia intended to emerge on the other side spotless and porcelain-pale, with enough influence to make up for the fact that she was neither a sorceress nor a nobleman’s wife.

It was hard to resist spending some of it every now and then, though, and she was so rarely in Novigrad these days. She’d spent much of the past month in Tretogor, collecting whispers from the mouths of Radovid’s supporters. It was good to be back in familiar territory, and with a pouch of imperial gold burning a hole in her pocket, she’d made her way directly to the Kingfisher Inn and rented the most lavish room she could afford. 

Tonight, Carthia sat alone at a table in the tavern, sipping a goblet of cherry cordial and luxuriating in the sweet, lilting voice of the poet Callonetta. 

She’d heard that the songbird had almost lost her voice the previous year, after being attacked and forced to drink acid by a deranged fanatic of the Eternal Fire. She’d only recently begun to sing again, and the people of Novigrad flocked to the stage to listen. As soon as the curtains rose, Carthia understood why they loved her so. She was lovely, truly, with delicate features and hair like spun gold. Her voice rang clear as a bell over icy water, and her ballads were beyond compare. Carthia caught a glimpse of the bard Dandelion seated just short of the stage, falling over himself like a lovesick fool. She smirked to herself and drained her glass of liquor. 

The warm glow in her belly was abruptly silenced by the cold, sharp edge of a dagger against her throat.

“Hello, Cantarella,” a velvet voice purred in her ear. “Looks like you’re enjoying yourself.”

Carthia smiled. “Eveline. It’s been too long.”

“Indeed it has.” The acrobat’s voice dripped venom. “When was it that we last saw one another? Ah, yes. I seem to remember you poisoning me and leaving me for dead in a warehouse down by the docks.”

“Not for dead, my love,” Carthia replied. “Never for dead. And if you’ll recall, I left your entire share of the gold behind.”

“Less a few hundred Orens.” The sharp of the blade pressed harder against Carthia’s throat. “Or did you think I wouldn’t count it?”

“Call it a finder’s fee.”

“Hmph.” Carthia could hear the curl of a smile in Eveline’s voice. “Did I mention that there would be hell to pay, or did I simply dream saying that after I lost consciousness?”

“I’m afraid you must have dreamt it. I assure you I’m listening now, though.” Carthia raised an eyebrow. “Do go on.”

Eveline laughed. The dagger vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, and a moment later the acrobat straddled the bench beside her. There was an obvious twinkle in her jade green eyes despite the hood that half-hid her face in shadow. Carthia knew that glimmer well. It always seemed to correlate with the completion of a particularly lucrative job. 

“What are you scheming about?”

“Never you mind.” Eveline flagged down the innkeep and tossed him a handful of crowns. “I’d like a bottle of cordial and a second glass, if you please.”

He nodded. “Right away, madam.”

“Brave of you to show your face in this part of town,” Carthia remarked as he hurried off to retrieve the liquor. “Particularly at this time of night. I’m assuming you saw the pikes outside the Tretogor gate?”

Eveline nodded. “They’re burning anyone they can get their hands on these days. It wasn’t quite so bad the last time I was here.”

“It’s only going to get worse. A cloak won’t protect you for long.”

“If they wish to feed me to the Eternal Fire they’ll have to catch me first,” Eveline said, waving her hand dismissively. “And I should think you of all people would know firsthand just how agile I can be.”

The innkeep returned with the cordial, setting the bottle down on the table with a thunk. Eveline plucked the cork from its neck and poured a healthy measure into each of their glasses. She threw hers back in one gulp and immediately refilled it as Carthia sipped cautiously from her own, mulling the tart, dark taste of Nilfgaardian cherries over on her tongue. 

“Did you come all this way just to find me?”

Eveline snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. The troupe was passing through on our way south. We’re camped just outside Farcorners. But I heard tell from some drunk at the Seven Cats of a raven-haired beauty who swindled him out of his coin purse and left him for dead.” She took another draught of liqueur. “From the look of things, he was quite handsome once. You sure know how to pick them.”

“That was work, not pleasure.” Carthia traced the rim of her glass with one fingertip. “And he was dreadfully dull.”

“I’m sure.”

On stage, Callonetta’s ballad drew to a close. Eveline clapped enthusiastically along with the rest of the patrons as the poet bowed low, blowing a kiss in Dandelion’s direction. 

“She truly is a delight, isn’t she?” Eveline remarked. “A shame we can’t get someone like her to open our shows. We’d bring in double the gold.”

“I’d not taken you as much of one for the arts.”

“One has to be in my business.” 

Carthia smiled. “And which business would that be, my love? Mumming, or thievery?”

“Dealer’s choice.” Eveline drained her glass of cordial once more. “Though I’ve a number of other skills that often go unappreciated.”

“Oh?” Carthia crossed her legs coquettishly and cocked her head. “Do tell.”

“Perhaps a live demonstration might be better,” Eveline said, reaching out to trace the line of Carthia’s jaw with her fingertips. “I take it you have a room upstairs?”

Carthia took a sip of cordial, holding her gaze. “I do.”

“Then why are we sitting here marinating in the scent of chicken grease? Come.” Eveline stood, picking up the bottle of cordial by its neck. 

Carthia drained her glass and followed, slipping through the crowd of admirers vying to speak to Callonetta and making her way up the stairs to the second floor. She fitted a heavy gold key into the lock of a door just off the landing and slipped inside. 

“This must have cost you a pretty penny,” Eveline remarked, setting the cordial bottle down on the dresser. 

“Nothing I can’t spare.” Carthia shrugged.

The room really had been dreadfully expensive, but it was worth it for a bed stuffed with real feathers instead of straw and sheets that she could be sure wouldn’t give her lice. A deep washtub sat to one side behind a patterned screen, and on a low table sat a jug of wine and a platter of fresh fruits and cheeses. It was extravagant by Novigrad standards, though even the whorehouses back home in Nilfgaard tended to be nicer than this. The north was a rough place, largely undeveloped and plagued by hardship. Carthia had learned to take advantage of comforts like these whenever she could. 

“Now that we’re away from prying eyes…” 

Eveline leaned in and kissed her. Carthia kissed back, nipping at the plump bow of Eveline’s lip. She’d not intended on having company in her bed tonight, but since the opportunity had so kindly presented itself…

One of Eveline’s slender hands came up to tangle in her hair. The other planted on the small of her back, drawing her closer. Carthia could feel the warmth of her through her clothes, deepening the kiss as Eveline’s thigh insinuated itself between her legs. Eveline’s lips tasted of cherry cordial; of honey, dark and sweet; and ever so faintly of smoke. 

Carthia reached up to caress Eveline’s breast through her tunic, but abruptly found her wrists restrained. Before she’d processed what was happening, her arms were pulled behind her and bound securely with cord. She flexed against the restraint, but the knots held fast. 

“Did you really think I’d forget so easily?” Eveline purred in her ear. “I did tell you there’d be hell to pay.”

“You’re wicked, even for Aen Seidhe.”

Eveline laughed. “You poisoned me. Fair’s fair, Cantarella. I daresay you deserve to be punished.”

Carthia glared at her, but did not resist as Eveline’s nimble fingers undid the stays of her corset and slipped her dress from her body. It puddled around her ankles in a jumble of black and red damask, leaving her bare except for the rope around her wrists and the jewels around her neck. 

She’d kept the necklace, an elaborate confection constructed of cinnabar and garnets and gold filigree, after the last job they’d pulled together. It would have fetched a lovely price on the black market, but sentimental fool that she was she hadn’t been able to bring herself to part with it. It was the kiss of death for a thief to keep something so identifiable, like a magpie decorating its nest, but she’d kept it all the same. If nothing else, the way it highlighted her breasts and collarbone tended to keep men distracted whilst she rifled through their belongings or slipped something ghastly into their drinks. 

Eveline lifted the chain with her fingertips, admiring the jewels. “It really does suit you,” she said approvingly. “I suppose I’ll let you keep it. For now.” 

She pressed her lips briefly to Carthia’s and then retrieved a velvet footstool from near the window, dragging it over beside the bed. “On your knees.”

“I must say I was hoping for a bit more mystery,” Carthia said impishly. “Are you certain the thirst for revenge hasn’t eclipsed your imagination?”

“I said, _on your knees,_ ” Eveline repeated, her eyes glinting dangerously. 

“As you wish.” Carthia knelt in front of the stool, arms still tied awkwardly behind her back. 

“Bend over.”

Eveline stalked around the stool in a circle as Carthia did so, admiring her from all angles. She nodded approvingly. “Good.”

She produced a heavy gold key seemingly from nowhere, fitted it into the door’s lock, and turned it. The mechanism snicked shut.

“I must be slipping,” Carthia remarked, shivering slightly. “I didn’t notice you pickpocket me.”

“In all fairness, you were rather distracted.” Eveline grinned. “I’d apologize for using dirty tactics if I didn’t know you were partial to them yourself.”

“One must make use of the tools one is given.”

“Mm. Speaking of tools…” 

Though Carthia hadn’t seen her retrieve it, Eveline was holding a cane. It was long and thin but undeniably solid, whittled from dark wood that had been oiled and polished as smooth as the surface of a mirror. The smile on her face was positively wicked. 

“Where on earth did you get that?”

Eveline clucked her tongue. “Now now, Cantarella. A good performer would never reveal her secrets.”

“Any more than a good spy would ever break under torture.”

Eveline laughed. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

She struck the cane against the outside of Carthia’s thighs, too lightly to cause any pain but hard enough that she could gauge exactly how much it was going to hurt in a moment. 

“How many lashings is a poisoning worth?” Eveline hummed thoughtfully, still circling Carthia’s prone form. She traced the tip of the cane up Carthia’s side. “Let’s see...ten for the deception, certainly. Ten for the gold you so graciously took off my hands.” She paused, lifting Carthia’s chin with the tip of the cane. “And another five for my bruised feelings. Call me sentimental.”

Carthia stared back defiantly. 

Eveline smiled. “You’re strong-willed. Good. If you were to break down crying at the first strike this would be no fun at all.”

She moved to stand behind Carthia, running her hands along the length of the cane as she went, testing it. She slipped out of Carthia’s peripheral vision, and for a moment there was no sound save the low hum of conversation in the inn below. 

The hiss of the cane slicing through the air was almost a relief after the agonizing silence. 

Carthia was already braced for the blow, and had been since Eveline had first produced the cane, but it stung like hell nonetheless. The thin diameter of the cane itself was dreadfully deceptive. It was fast and unforgiving. The first strike, which landed on the right side of her arse, felt as though she’d been slashed with a hot blade. Carthia bit her lip and steeled herself, waiting for another.

It was hard not to slip back into old habits at a time like this. Carthia had trained under Assire var Anahid, who had seen fit to ensure that she was capable of withstanding all but the most horrid of tortures. It had been necessary, at the time, to protect the Lodge’s interests in the event that her true allegiance was discovered by Vattier de Rideaux. Fortunately, the man had been far too stupid to even begin to consider that she had half a brain in her skull. 

Still, the training Lady Assire had put her through had its uses. Not the least of which was refusing to give a certain thief the satisfaction of hearing her scream. 

Eveline counted out the strikes in a voice colored with amusement as she delivered them. She was indiscriminate in where they landed; some blows fell repeatedly in the same spot on Carthia’s arse, others on the outside of her legs, still others on the tender flesh of the inside of her thigh. Those were the most difficult to bear, each strike searing with pain as though she’d been touched with a white-hot poker. Carthia made a fist with her bound hands, unable to defend herself or even shift her weight to mitigate the pain. There was naught she could do but bear it.

Somewhere around the fifteenth lash, anguish morphed to pleasure. The whistle and thud of the cane against her skin was still agony, but with each blow there was a pleasant curl of anticipation in Carthia’s core, followed by a rush as the pain slowly faded. 

Eveline swung the cane, landing a particularly cruel strike on the inside of Carthia’s thigh just short of her cunt, and Carthia gasped and let out a low moan. 

“Enjoying this, are we?” Eveline purred. 

She wound up and struck the same spot again and Carthia cried out, her legs shaking underneath her. 

“Hush, darling. We wouldn’t want the other patrons to think there’s something sordid going on in here, would we?”

Carthia clenched her teeth and fought unsuccessfully to still the tremble in her thighs. This was torture, really—not in the sense that the pain was difficult to withstand, but that the pleasure was. Warmth bloomed in her as she shifted uncomfortably, the wood floor hard and unforgiving under her knees, desperately seeking friction that would never come. 

“You’ve five lashes to go.” Eveline swished the cane through the air experimentally. “I suppose I had better make them count.”

The next strike made it painfully apparent that Eveline had been holding out on her. Carthia almost swallowed her tongue fighting back a scream as the wood cut into her skin. The gods only knew what she looked like right now, naked and bound and utterly at the other woman’s mercy, deep violet bruises already blooming on her skin around raised and tender scarlet welts everywhere the cane had kissed her skin. 

Carthia retreated into her mind, into the fantasy of the things she’d have Eveline to do her when her debt was repaid. Into the memory of her tongue, warm and insistent, lapping at her cunt. Into the blissful warmth of flesh on flesh and pockets weighed down with pilfered gold. Into soft lips sucking at her clit just as she was on the verge of release— 

The pain jolted her out of the reverie and she clung to it desperately, fighting to immerse herself so deeply in her memories that the sting of the cane could no longer reach her. It was a lost cause, of course. The next strike all but shattered the fantasy, which fell down all around Carthia like shards of broken glass. A whimper escaped her throat despite her attempts to swallow it, and Eveline hummed in pleasure. 

“Twenty-three.”

Two more strikes to endure. Knowing the end was within her grasp almost made things bearable, though Carthia knew it was foolish to let down her guard. Eveline would only drag things out if she saw the relief in her posture. She gritted her teeth and waited. 

Another strike to the inside of her thigh, quick, vicious. Carthia’s eyes stung, and when she blinked a single hot tear spilled over and ran down her face. Her entire body was abuzz with energy, as if she’d been struck by a sorceress’s power. She knew only too well what that felt like after all these years. 

“Twenty-four.” Eveline bent down and nipped at Carthia’s earlobe. “And this last one is from the heart.”

The cane struck before Carthia even had time to process the sound of it slicing through the air. She cried out, biting her lip so hard it was a wonder she didn’t break the skin, her legs shaking underneath her. 

Eveline hummed, kneeling behind Carthia and setting the cane down on the floor. She ran her slender hands across Carthia’s skin, examining the marks she’d left on her thighs, the curve of her arse. The tender flesh stung under her touch and Carthia hissed. 

“Have you learnt your lesson, Cantarella?” 

Carthia despised the teasing lilt in Eveline’s voice in that moment, the maddening touch of those hands that ghosted over her skin everywhere except for where she wanted them. She forced herself to swallow her tongue. “Yes, Eveline.”

She could hear the smile on Eveline’s face. “Good.”

Soft, tender lips against the nape of her neck. Carthia shuddered, unable to fight the tremble in her legs. Eveline’s breath against her skin sent a jolt of pleasure down her spine.

“Perhaps you deserve a reward of some sort,” she mused, kissing her way slowly down Carthia’s spine. 

“Ah,” Carthia sighed, anticipation thrumming through her, all the energy built up in her body begging for release. “Please, my love…”

She could feel the curl of Eveline’s lips as she smiled against her skin. Eveline’s hand slid up her bruised and tender thigh, warm fingers at last stroking Carthia’s cunt— 

Carthia gasped. Perfect, blessed friction, Eveline’s skilled fingers massaging her exactly the way she liked it. Gods, she hadn’t realized how wet she was. 

Eveline continued kissing Carthia’s back, her breath sending little shudders through Carthia as it tickled her skin. Carthia ground back against her touch and Eveline slipped two fingers inside her. 

Carthia moaned. Gods, yes—this was exactly what she wanted, exactly what she needed. Eveline’s fingers curling inside her and the warmth of her lithe body pressed against her own as the pleasure grew inside her, swelling with every little come-hither motion of Eveline’s hand. The acrobat took her apart as skillfully as a smith disassembling a lock. Carthia had been close to begin with, but there was no holding back now, no denying herself when her body was screaming for release and she was utterly at Eveline’s mercy. She tensed around Eveline’s stroking fingers, her breath coming in short bursts. 

“Come for me, darling.”

Rocking back against Eveline’s hand, craving more pressure, more depth, Carthia gasped. She was close, so close, teetering on the edge of oblivion. She was hardly aware of the stinging welts on her skin any longer, lost entirely in the sensation of Eveline’s touch. She reached out for her fantasy from earlier, imagined Eveline’s slick tongue on her cunt as she sat on her face— 

Pleasure broke over her like a dam overwhelmed by a spring thaw. Carthia shuddered and cried out, spasming around Eveline’s fingers, carried away on the current. It took a long time for her to fully come back to herself. She focused on taking slow, deep breaths as the euphoria faded.

Eveline withdrew her fingers, licking them clean, and pulled at the knot binding Carthia’s wrists. One simple tug on a strand and the entire thing fell to pieces as if it had never even existed. Carthia sat back on her knees, wincing, and flexed her wrists and shoulders to get the blood back into them. 

Once the pleasure had gone, the sting of the marks the cane had left on her skin was impossible to ignore. It needled at her incessantly. She sucked in air through clenched teeth as she got to her feet, grimacing. 

“I would apologize,” Eveline said, leaning in to kiss her softly, “but I’m afraid I’m not sorry. You _did_ leave me for dead.”

“I suppose we all must one day reap what we sow.” Carthia frowned. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have any salve, either.” There was an apologetic note in Eveline’s voice. She retrieved the bottle of cherry cordial from the dresser and held it up. “There’s still a good measure of this left, though. Fancy a drink to take the edge off?”

“Please.”

Carthia walked carefully over to the washstand and wet a cloth with water from the pitcher while Eveline poured dark red liqueur into a glass. She pressed the rag delicately to her wounds, hissing under her breath. The cold felt good against the angry welts on her skin, but a compress could only do so much. She would be feeling this for the better part of the next week, unless she made a point of seeing an herbalist for a poultice. 

When she was finished cleaning herself up, she sank cautiously into bed, thanking the gods that she’d elected to spend the night in an inn that boasted silk sheets and feather mattresses. Anything less would have been agony. She lay back against the pillows and sighed.

Eveline curled up beside her like a cat, handing over a small crystal goblet of cherry cordial. “Bottoms up, darling.”

Carthia downed it in one go, which was terribly unrefined. If only Lady Assire could see her now. She hummed to herself in amusement.

“Cantarella,” Eveline said thoughtfully, as if she were mulling the taste of her name over on her tongue. 

“Hm?”

“What’s your real name?” Eveline rested her chin in her hands.

Carthia laughed. “As if I’d divulge my secrets so easily.”

“Can’t blame me for trying.” 

The welts were already stinging less. Carthia sighed contentedly, melting into the bed. She felt like she could sleep for a thousand years. Her eyelids were suddenly so _heavy_ , and her tongue was clumsy in her mouth— 

“Gods _damnit_ ,” she mumbled. “The wine…”

“Fair’s fair, darling.” Eveline leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. She unclasped the necklace from Carthia’s throat and placed it around her own, tucking it down beneath her cloak so it would be hidden. “I’ll be taking this, but you’re free to try to get it back. If you can find me, that is.”

“Minx…” Carthia struggled against the fog of sleep that rose up to claim her. “You’re...going to regret…”

“Mm. I look forward to it.” Eveline kissed her lips once more. The last thing that Carthia felt before unconsciousness claimed her was the warmth of Eveline’s breath against her skin. 

When she awoke the next morning, there was no sign of the acrobat save an empty bottle of cordial on the dresser. A tiny scroll of parchment was crammed into its neck in lieu of a cork. Moving slowly so as not to exacerbate her aching head, Carthia retrieved it and unrolled it. 

On the paper were written five words in a short, spiky hand. 

_Catch me if you can._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I had a really great time writing this and sinking back into the world of the witcher after a few months writing more modern content. Novigrad is so atmospheric! I think it's my favorite part of the entire game, and the Kingfisher is by far my favorite tavern in the city. 
> 
> If you liked this story, please consider leaving me a comment! I'd love to hear your thoughts :)


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